The Devil's Tears
by MelissaMassacre
Summary: After avenging his father's death, Jack Marston roams the Wild West, without purpose or direction. He meets a young Mexican-born girl wanting to start a new in New Austin with pipe dreams of becoming a notable dancer. A shared infatuation between the two may only drag Jack into an awfully tormenting state of despair, or drag him out of the despair he is currently in.
1. The Kindness of Strangers

**Author's Note**

_WARNINGS: Possible, but infrequent strong language, violence, themes of the sexual nature, angst._

_PAIRING: Jack Marston and an OC_

_REFERENCES: 'The Devil's Tears' by Angus & Julia Stone._

"_I've always depended on the kindness of strangers" is a short quote from 'A Streetcar Named Desire' by Tennessee Williams._

_Obvious references to the Red Dead Redemption game, I don't own anything other than the OC, the storyline and the meagre words below._

_OTHER: This is my first story on Fanfiction. If you're reading this, then I thank you kindly. I'm not expecting a lot of reviews because I'm not even sure how popular RDR fiction is, so I'm just going to continue writing this for my own benefit even if it isn't popular. I was playing RDR for the first time in a while the other day and an idea just popped into my head. Jack's fun to write about because his future after RDR is kind of open for the audience to interpret. I heard rumours about a sequel recently, from Rockstar, but they sounded pretty indefinite about the whole idea in general._

_This story is written in third person and I apologise for any grammatical/spelling mistakes (if you notice any, please tell me). If I'm not being historically accurate, I apologise and once again, I'd like you to correct me. Constructive criticism is always welcome, too, as are reviews, likes, alerts etc._

**Chapter 1: The Kindness of Strangers**

"C'mon, boy! Faster, faster!"

The almost blistering Sun beat down on the back of Jack's neck as he galloped along the southern border of New Austin. The breeze from the sheer speed he was riding at was something to be cherished in the current climate; many would call it unbearable. Jack found it enjoyable; for the sole reason of hitting that ultimate speed only to catch the incredible sensation of that breeze. The harsh Sun just emphasised the beauty of those moments.

Amidst this mild ecstasy, Jack closed his eyes for a second, at the most; simply to absorb that moment further. During that second – and let's not forget the speed at which his horse was racing at – he had startled a poor traveller who was meandering along the same dirt road.

Their initial instinct was to dive out of the way of the horse and its ignorant rider. Doing so, the traveller let out a frightened yelp and tumbled into the dry grass with a thud.

"Whoa, boy, slow down," Jack exclaimed as he tugged on the rein of his horse. Startling the pedestrian had startled him and ultimately broke him out of his rapturous state – and Jack, being an innate gentleman, couldn't refrain from aiding the possibly injured stranger. As he turned his horse around he could hear the incoherent, angry yells of a Spanish speaking woman who he assumed to be the voice of that said pedestrian.

As he approached closer to the Hispanic lady he noticed that she was like a bear with a sore head; a mood in which she wasn't to be tampered with. Spanish profanity continued to escape her lips as she irritably brushed down her already scruffy rags that were being passed off as items of garments. Her big, brown eyes were brimming with angry tears threatening to fall.

Her bronze skin looked dirty and her black hair was a little ruffled. She still held an odd beauty, nevertheless. Her lips were full and her eyes were so dark that the pupils were almost invisible. The (currently) messy head of hair shaped a rounded jaw and few stray hairs lay effortlessly down her face. She had a slender frame, but still possessed curves in the right places. Her shoddy attire, basically and admittedly, left it all to the imagination, however.

Wanting to calm the little lady, Jack got off his horse and raised both gloved hands to his torso in a defensive manner. "Hey, hey, I'm sorry, senorita! Uh, yo no hablo Español," Jack blurted out, speaking the language he knew very little of. His interruption stopped the girl's cries, but she still had venom in her eyes. "I beg your pardon, miss, but I truly didn't see you there. It was my mistake, I was miles away. I'd sure be glad to help with any troubles, ma'am, whatever they may be...uh, comprende?"

"What were you thinking, stupid American?!" she exclaimed in response with a strong Spanish accent. Thus, Spanish wasn't the only language she could speak. As she spoke Jack's stature resembled that of a guilty dog with his tail in between his legs. As he looked down at his shuffling feet, one hand was tucking inside his trouser pocket while the other went to the back of his gritty neck, rubbing it timidly. "You could have killed me!" She paused to inhale heavily, calming herself and regaining her composure.

"Look, miss, I apologi–"

"I'm sorry," she interjected. "I didn't mean to shout at you. I've had a rough day."

"You don't know the meaning of the phrase, lady," Jack muttered under his breath as he turned away from her, to the point it was inaudible to the female stranger. He turned to face her once again as he sighed and repeated, "so, d'you wanna ride or somethin', or not? I ain't got all day, miss, and this ain't a nice area to be takin' a stroll."

"I know that, señor. You Americanos have no idea how to treat their visitors."

With a laugh Jack added, "Ain't just the visitors. Welcome to America, senorita; where the streets are paved with shit and everyone treats you like the dirt upon it. Pardon my cursin', miss." Jack cleared his throat and tipped his hat in the lady's direction. As he did so, he happened to notice the condition that her dainty feet were in. "If you don't mind me sayin' so, your feet look mighty sore. What in God's name possessed you to wander all the way out here from – I'm assuming – somewhere in Mexico, both horseless and shoeless. That is by far the stupidest idea, if I ever heard one."

"Some thieves stole my horse! A few miles back, two men shot at my horse to scare it. When it reared, I lost balance and fell off. Luckily, that's all they took. If they'd have taken my satchel, too, then I'd have nothing but the clothes on my back. As for the shoes, I don't have much money and they were never a concern of mine where I lived."

Not wanting to get tangled in anyone's business, Jack left it at that. Any business of hers was no business of Jack's and Jack was never one to pry. He treated people how he would like to be treated; she'd tend her garden while he tends his own, good fences made good neighbours, in his opinion.

He did stare at her with a quizzical expression, however. Though, he wouldn't pry, the woman had a slightly curious air about her; something he couldn't quite put his finger on. An enigma, if you will. Jack took a liking to a good story now and then – he always took pleasure in wondering what background a person had, where they had come from, what their motives were. But that is the beauty in the pleasure; the mystery. Strangers are exciting because they're wrapped in mystery and give people the desire to understand, to learn. Meeting someone new was like opening a new book; a book doesn't tell all its secrets at once.

"Alright, then; Hop on, miss, I'll take you to Armadillo. I'll try to go slow for you, but it's a good few miles till we get there."

"Thank you, stranger," she said, simply. She placed one foot on the stirrup and Jack held her hand to keep her balance as she sat behind the saddle. The Standardbred snorted and nickered slightly as she adjusted herself on the horses bareback. Jack followed suit and climbed up onto the saddle, grabbing the reins.

"Hold on, ma'am. Don't want you takin' another fall now, do we?"

Without another word, the girl placed both hands on either side of Jack's waist for support, just in time before he heeled the horse's side and whipped the reins. "Let's go, let's go!"

Now, for the reader's sake, let's elucidate on the old town, Armadillo. To begin, it's commonly known as the place where danger is never uncommon. Looking back, Jack's decision to take her there may sound careless – with it being the closest settlement and in an affordable price range; if anything, he was being decent. Compared to Blackwater, it was a literal hellhole; but for wanderers with very little money like this lady adventurer, you couldn't afford to be picky, you get what you're given. Jack was a gentleman with a heart of gold, but he didn't see why he should invest too much attention and emotion into one person. No-one had ever done anything decent for him.

Back to Armadillo, it still remains one of the lesser industrialised settlements in the West. With inhabitants not being able to afford the luxury of an automobile, nor being able to afford the finer quality liquor and tailoring that some towns sold at an expensive rate; or what the Armadillo inhabitants considered expensive, it was difficult to evolve out of the slump it was in. What Armadillo lacked in the industrial sector, it made up for in violence, chaos, sex and any other immorality and sin you can think of. Sins and the Sinners were as common as dirt. The Saloon, centred in the hellhole of a town, was the epitome of immorality. It spewed out Sin like a sick individual would spew up ipecac. More recently, due to the boom in American cabaret, cabaret-like dancers had become somewhat of a gem in the Saloon's entertainment. Dirty, old men would throw away their money on alcohol, gambling, prostitutes and on the oh-so darling dancers.

Let's digress back to the present, with Jack and the stranger. They rode in silence, with the exception of the horse's hoofs hitting the dry land and the occasional snort and whinny. Silence was an occasional friend of Jack's – it could be the perfect solitude. Solitude insinuates the delight of being alone while the term 'loneliness' implies the pain. Sometimes, with Jack, it was a constant battle between the two.


	2. When you're a Stranger

**Author's Note**

_WARNINGS: Possible, but infrequent strong language, violence, themes of the sexual nature, angst._

_PAIRING: Jack Marston and an OC_

_REFERENCES: 'People Are Strange' by The Doors_

'_God's Gonna Cut you Down' by Johnny Cash_

_There's a very small reference to 'Lawless' in this chapter. See if you can spot it._

_OTHER: Thank you, Isabelle, for taking the time to review – and a lovely review at that! It was very motivational, so thanks again._

_This chapter's a lot longer (I think) than last. Last chapter was more of an epilogue, more than anything. Here we get introduced to more characters and OCs are developed. I hope you read this and enjoy it, if you do, please review, favourite, follow etc._

**Chapter 2: When you're a Stranger**

After a tiring journey across Rio Bravo, riding at what Jack considered a painstakingly slow pace; both he and the wanderer had made it into the town of Armadillo. By the time they arrived, it couldn't have been any earlier than noon. Checking his pocket watch whilst the horse was still trotting slowly, Jack realised the time was half past the hour of twelve exactly. The Sun was at its hottest at this time so many of Armadillo's people were hoarding in the Saloon either parched or merely savouring being in the shade. This is also the time of day where the depravity is most scarce. It wasn't until nightfall when Armadillo showed its true colours. Jack was tempted to warn the wanderer about this, knowing that she was probably being lulled into a false sense of security – he decided against it, however. She would find out for herself in due course.

Jack was considered somewhat of a notable figure around this town and some others. Whether it was infamy as opposed to fame – that notion was debatable. The inhabitants had their own opinions on the matter, but either way he was especially renowned around these parts and whether or not they considered him a worthy icon, he was still respected and obeyed by many. He had an inkling that this was out of fear, something that he didn't want. He had no intentions of abusing his status in such a way; he'd seen the men, the power greedy men, both corrupted and glorified. Through personal experience he had witnessed the monster that is corruption harm is family, abusing their power and control over the underdogs and the little people. We tolerate this kind of behaviour; we tolerate it because it's common. We tolerate it because the little people can't and won't stand up to the big bug.

Jack was the dark horse. Jack stood up against the law for the sake of justice itself – the irony of it all. He stood up, but for what price? If he's learnt anything from his father, it's that God's going to cut you down for your Sins, someday. There is no escaping your past, no clean slates; no turning over a new leaf, what goes around comes around. His philosophy on life, after he had avenged his father's death, was that death could literally be around any corner.

"This is it, miss, end of the road," Jack started as he pulled on the reins of the horse. The horse came to a full stop in the middle of the dirt road. Jack turned his head slightly to make eye contact with his passenger and also to help her down. His hand reached around to take hold of hers and after doing so, she hopped off the horse.

"_Muchas gracias, senor, me has ayudado mucho_," (Thank you very much, sir, you have helped me very much) thanked the Mexican whilst looking up at her saddled saviour, of sorts.

Jack understood little Spanish, but grasped the gist of what she was trying to say. In response, he tipped his hat and mumbled, "Happy to help, ma'am."

"I will pray for you, kind gentleman, in hopes that your good deeds will be repaid," continued the lady, her hands meeting as if she was already beginning to pray.

"No problem. Now, if you don't mind, I've gotta go see a man about a horse. Stay safe, miss."

She smiled and nodded as she tucked stray hairs behind her ear. Soon after, Jack was trotting off, once again, leaving the girl stranded in the strange town. She was at a loss of what to do, or where to start. The smile faded at the realisation.

There seemed to be a lot of commotion coming from within the Saloon behind her, so her journey in Armadillo was to begin there. Upon entering, she felt out of place amongst the local folk (or at least the wide majority of them were local). Not once had she left her home town of Chuparosa, Mexico. She had been rather sheltered in the sense that she was always accepted in her small town and always aware of her surroundings. At the moment, she considered herself to be stuck in a predicament far worse than the one she was in back home – as they say, out of the frying pan and into the fire.

Nevertheless, she soldiered on and gently nudged her way to the bar. As feeble and as quiet as a dormouse, she eased through the patrons, but at the same time, with the agility of a cat. When she eventually reached the bar, she was ignored for a good five minutes due to the amount of customers.

"What can I get you, ma'am," the bartender, Dewey Greenwood, asked as he rested against the bar.

"I'll have a gin, please," she replied, opening her satchel for her money.

"Right away, ma'am." He reached under the bar to grab the bottle and a tumbler, and then began pouring the liquid into the glass. "We don't get a lot of Mexican ladies in here. Just passing by?" Dewey questioned, trying to create conversation.

"Maybe," she responded with a smile, not knowing how else to reply as she wasn't so certain herself. She downed the burning liquid in the glass, pulling a face of disgust whilst doing so. She didn't necessarily enjoy the taste of liquor, but like many other people enjoyed the feeling afterwards. Liquor could be the cure to life's problems – but we have to make sure that they don't become the cause.

"Is there anything else I can get you, ma'am?"

"Actually - my name is Catalina. I'm really in need of a favour, por favor. Can you help me? Please, senor, I'm desperate and I am begging you. Find it in your heart to rent out a room to me, even just for a short while. I need a place to stay, until I figure out what direction God intends me to go in. At the moment, I am lost and so alone."

A moment of silence passed before Dewey sighed, "Ain't nobody stayin' in this Saloon without payin', missy. I'd like to help, but–"

"Oh, senor, please. I don't have much money, but I could pay you back, I promise you. With God as my witness, I swear to you. I could help around the Saloon."

"How old are you, miss?"

"Eighteen – why?"

"Many women your age and older make a livin' by - satisfying a certain need, shall we say? A certain physical need which men are more than willin' to pay for," Dewey hushed, picking his words carefully as not to offend Catalina.

The bartender's attempts to make subtle his implication were futile and had failed, ultimately leading to offending Catalina. Her eyes widened in disbelief and her jaw dropped slightly. Before a brief pause she started, "Surely you don't mean that I should sell myself to those seeking the pleasure of the flesh!"

"Ma'am, please, it was only a friendly suggestion. Many women have turned to that in the past when there ain't nowhere else to turn. I had no intentions of offendin'. If that ain't a road you wanna ride down, then may I suggest searchin' elsewhere for work and a place to stay? I am sorry, ma'am, I'd really like to help, I would. But there ain't no work here."

Catalina's eyebrows knitted together on hearing the bad news. Her sad eyes looked to the ground in a sulky manner as she started to leave the Saloon in defeat. "Thanks anyway, senor."

Meanwhile, Jack had been stocking up on ammo and had also invested in a new Mauser Pistol, taking pride in his current weapon array. In Jack's opinion, it was the simple things in his life, such as a new gun, which were to be the most enjoyable. Simplicity itself was glorious.

He was just about to finish up with his purchases, but was rudely interrupted when an unfamiliar voice sounded behind him, "Mr Marston?"

Jack spun around quickly to meet who he thought to be a stranger. "Excuse me, do I know you?"

"No, no, but everyone is this town knows you." Jack eyed the badge on the gentleman's waistcoat; it was in the shape of a star. Immediately, he knew he was the new Sheriff in Armadillo. Jack automatically took an instant disliking to this stranger. He wasn't one to judge a person before getting to know them, but as far as Jack was concerned, it was the law as a whole who had killed his father. "I'm Sheriff Tom McKinley; Sheriff of this here town." He stuck his thumbs into his trouser pockets and his chest puffed out as if to boast.

Jack said nothing in reply. Instead, he continued to store the new ammo into his bandolier. The Sheriff started again, "You know, I've heard stories about you, boy–"

"Don't always believe what you hear, Mr McKinley," Jack grumbled, not entirely interested in where the conversation was currently at nor where it was going to. He refused to give Tom any eye contact thinking he'd soon get the hint that he wasn't interested. Tom's eyes, however, darted towards what Jack seemed so interested in.

"That's an awful lot of ammo there for one man, son. If I didn't know any better, I'd–"

"Huntin', sir. Huntin'."

"Huntin' with a Mauser?" Tom's mood had turned snide and sceptical. Jack's ignorance and boorish behaviour hadn't settled well with him, despite how minute the fault really was.

"Yes siree!"

Jack finished up by shoving the Mauser into his holster and was about turn and leave the Gunsmiths but was aggressively pulled back by McKinley. "Well, that's a lie, if I ever heard one!" Tom yelled, still having hold of Jack by the shoulder. Jack was forced to make eye contact now as he was placed directly in front of the Sheriff. "Do you expect me to believe that, boy?!"

There was a long pause; an awkward one. Jack was a fair few inches taller than Tom, so he took this to his advantage to stare down the middle-aged, slimy man. Jack reached into his pocket and casually pulled out a cigarette from its carton. He placed the cigarette between his lips, slowly before muttering, "Don't you ever touch me again." He shrugged out of Tom's grip and left the Gunsmith.

"Now, Jack, is that any way to treat both your elder and the authority?" Tom chuckled, forcing his mood out of the hot temper it was previously in. "Look, boy, I think we got off on the wrong foot." Tom snaked his arm across Jack's shoulders and urged him towards the Sheriff's office as opposed to his original destination.

"Mister, give a kid a break. I ain't got time for your shit. Stay outta my business and I'll stay out of yours."

"Your business is my business. This whole town is my business and as long as you're in it - well, let's just say I'm gonna keep a mighty close eye on you, boy." They came to a full stop outside of the Sheriff's office. Jack swallowed hard as he glared at the man. He swallowed his rage; his fists balled up, knuckles going white with suppression. "I like you, Jack; I really do. I see, uh, potential, in you."

"Sir, I ain't ever gonna help or work for you or any other authority figure. I ain't your lackey, nor will I allow myself to be pushed around by a man because he wears a badge, when I never did nothin' wrong in the first place. I've lost a lot in my life, but I still have my dignity, sir – no disrespect, each man to his own. G'day, Mr McKinley." Jack tipped his hat in Tom's direction and then turned his back to him.

As he was walking away and lighting his cigarette with a match, he heard Tom holler something from behind. "I can be your best friend, Jack – or your worst nightmare."

"Once you witness Hell, you're able to defeat any one of your nightmares."


End file.
